and the whole look of the young fellow was as of one who had never been able to assert himself.
"You have come at our dull time, sir," said Mr. Colson; "you won't find much stirring down here just now, I am afraid."
"I suppose Wiltonbury is never very lively?"
"The winter is our gay season," replied the young man, "any number of hops are going on then."
"Yes; and Johnny is in great request as a partner, I can assure you," said Mrs. Yorke, patronizingly. And then, with a knowing look at her son, she continued, "Have you seen anything of Miss Vardon lately, Johnny? Johnny's last flame," she added, by way of explanation to Arthur; "he is a sad flirt," at which compliment Mr. Colson sniggered and blushed, but seemed gratified.
"You mustn't call me 'sir,'" said Yorke, as he opened the hall-door for him.
"Thank you; that is very kind of you, I am sure. But you have become such a swell, now, you see — a colonel and all the rest of it."
"Only brevet rank, my dear fellow; at any rate, I am always your old friend and schoolfellow." For poor Johnny, who used to stand above him at Marlborough, had missed his chance in life, and was still a clerk in Hammond's bank on a small salary, and with no prospects.
"He has never got over Rebecca's marriage, my dear," said Mrs. Yorke when her son returned to the drawing-room. "You never saw anybody in such a way as he was when her engagement to Mr. Morgan was made known." And Mrs. Yorke drew herself up and smiled significantly at vacancy, as if Johnny's disappointment had given additional zest to the affair.
Mrs. Brabazon called with her eldest daughter, coming, as Mrs. Yorke had anticipated, in her carriage. This lady took an early opportunity of addressing Yorke as "captain," and was thereon set right by his mother. "Colonel Yorke, Mrs. Brabazon — my son is a colonel of cavalry, you know; and only think — the bishop, who was calling here just now, told us that it was his nephew who is in Arthur's regiment, under his command, you know."
"Yours is only brevet rank, I suppose," said Mrs. Brabazon, determined to put down Mrs. Yorke; "my son says that brevets are given away for nothing nowadays. Do you know my son? "He is major of the —th, the senior regimental major."
"Yes; but Robert is only a fair-weather soldier, you know, mamma, and has never seen a shot fired," said Miss Brabazon, who had a good-tempered if not a pretty face. "I hope you have got your Victoria Cross on view, Colonel Yorke, I do so want to see one."
"No indeed, he has not, Maria," said Mrs. Yorke: "he has not even brought his regimentals with him, only his presents for me and his sister. I must really show you these," she said, rising and producing the different articles for the others' inspection. "Sweetly pretty, are they not?"
"Yes, pretty enough," said Mrs. Brabazon; "all Indian curios are pretty much alike. I suppose you pick them up for a mere song out there?"
"Then I wish," said Miss Brabazon, "that Robert's regiment would go to India, that he might pick up a few for his sisters. He may take all our old songs to exchange for them, if he likes."
"You were saying, mother," said Yorke, after the ladies had gone, "that your acquaintance here was very select. Couldn't you strike that awful woman off your visiting-list?"
"What! Mrs. Brabazon? My dear Arthur, why, she keeps her carriage, and mixes in all the county society. She says smart things, I grant you; but it is not to be wondered at; for what between the poor dear dean's extravagant ways, and having to pay her son's debts ever so many times, and all those plain girls of hers, and not one of them married, I don't wonder at it. She was in a dreadful taking when Morgan proposed for Rebecca, and I don't think has ever forgiven me. She had quite intended him for Maria." And Mrs. Yorke's face, as she reflected upon that time of triumph, wore a look of unwonted sagacity.
CHAPTER XLIV.
The party, which came off on the evening of the day above described, began at eight o'clock, at which time Mrs. Yorke appeared in her pretty little drawing-room, attired in a very becoming grey silk dress, her soft bands of hair set off by a little arrangement of lace and ribbon that hardly deserved the name of cap, and altogether looking by the subdued candle-light more like what Arthur's sister might be than his mother. The dining-room was set out with tea and coffee, under superintendence of a waiter assisted by the parlour-
